Sweatshirts

I was wearing my father’s sweatshirt

the one his father wore

I pulled it on

I pulled it off

You were sitting with me on some stoop

and I was reciting some speech

about how you should have shown up sooner

 

You didn't argue

You apologized

and agreed to never be late again

 

Later when I was alone

I pulled out my yellow sweatshirt

the one with the stains and the stencils

of the boy with his hands in his pockets

and the two hearts hanging overhead

 

I have been wearing it ever since

my thumbs tucked into the tears of its cuffs